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Emily Codik

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The beef tongue arrives raw and slivered, its flesh marbled with strips of fat. You cook it on a wire grate over charcoal, which burns crimson in a pit on your table. In seconds, the meat turns from pink and slick to charred and shriveled. "It's t...

The beef tongue arrives raw and slivered, its flesh marbled with strips of fat. You cook it on a wire grate over charcoal, which burns crimson in a pit on your table. In seconds, the meat turns from pink and slick to charred and shriveled. "It's t...

When the Pubbelly boys open restaurants, they call them concepts. Their strategies, though, are not about location. It's not décor. Or cuisine. Or even target crowd. The concept, rather, is Pubbelly. The word describes not food or ambience,...

If Mister Collins were a man and not a restaurant, he'd be the kind to give red roses -- but never yellow tulips or a single orchid. He'd favor ocean views and tea lights over cityscapes and Dixon lamps. He'd drink Manhattans. He'd wear black leat...

Florida Cookery's manager, an unflappable and poker-faced woman dressed in an austere black-and-white uniform, set a heavy spiny lobster dish on our table. Around her, the dining room lit up with that unique razzle-dazzle that South Beach restaura...